


Muscle Memory

by Nicnac



Series: The Trials and Tribulations of an Amnesiac Lex [1]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicnac/pseuds/Nicnac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just because Lex has forgotten everything, it doesn't mean some part of him doesn't still remember Clark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muscle Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Two things. First this story is post series and may be slightly AU. I stopped watching Smallville around the beginning of Season 7 and so everything I know about Lex's memory loss comes from the Smallville wiki. Secondly for those of you who don't like slash, may I suggest you skip the fifth paragraph in order to get a perfectly coherent and complete bromantic story. I promise that I checked to make sure that there is nothing in that paragraph that you NEED to read for this story to make sense, I was just catering to my inner Clex fangirl.

Clark Kent, Lex decided, was one of the most annoying people on the planet. Of course, Lex found all reporters to be annoying on general principle, if nothing else, but Kent, Kent was special.

Lex very vividly recalls the first time he saw the man, or at least the first time after Lex’s unexplained total memory loss. It was, in fact, at a press conference detailing his total memory loss and intention to _not_ do anything to try to remember his past. When asked why he said some platitudes about looking forward and not letting the past hold him back, though the truth was Lex had pretty quickly figured out that he had no friends and people didn’t like him very much, and he really didn’t want to remember why that was. What he would never tell anyone was he was afraid he would find out he didn’t like himself very much either.

Lex was just coming to the conclusion that he must have some experience at lying to the press, since he was proving particularly apt at it, when he spotted Kent. It was somehow simultaneously surprising that Kent had managed to draw his eye and surprising that it hadn’t happened before.  He had to be a good three or four inches over six feet in height, and was built like he had been painstakingly hand-carved from marble, and yet he insisted on doing everything possible to blend in with the furniture. Instead of standing up straight, he was slouching in the most god-awful example of posture Lex had ever seen, and then Kent had topped it off by draping himself in an ill-fitting suit and glasses that looked like they belonged to the nerd character in an eighties sitcom. Lex had wanted to strangle him.  After all, Lex didn’t have to remember what it meant to be a Luthor to feel the need to stand out like a genetic imperative. In fact, Lex took Kent’s insistence on seeming as unimportant and as innocuous as possible as something of a personal affront.

 Of course, it didn’t take long for Lex to realize that, while Kent was by far the worst offender, there were a frightening large number of people who clearly had no idea how to present themselves. It was to the point that Lex had to do something to deal with what was obviously a serious pandemic. His end solution was something akin to that old cliché public speaking trick, but instead of their underwear, Lex pictured everyone in Armani suits. For the most part it worked phenomenally; assuming that by “worked phenomenally” one meant made Lex even angrier than he was before because it worked on absolutely everyone except Kent. It wasn’t even that the stylish wire-frame glasses Lex tried to picture always seemed to be replaced by contacts, because that was really only annoying on principle. No , what irked him to no end was the fact that no matter how much effort he put into visualizing the perfectly tailored dove gray suit with a silk shirt in a shade of green that would really make Kent’s eyes pop, Imaginary Kent insisted on wearing worn, faded jeans and, Lord help him, flannel. And, as if the fact that it was _flannel_ wasn’t bad enough, it was always in some shade of bright blue or red or, in one particularly horrific incident, both. Because Kent clearly wasn’t satisfied with being annoying on his own merits, he also had to remind Lex of Superman, the other contender for most annoying… being on Earth.

It really didn’t help matters that Imaginary Kent, in all his primary colored flannel glory, was ridiculously attractive. While for practical reasons, he did live in Kansas after all, Lex identified as straight, he preferred to think that he could appreciate beauty regardless of gender. And when Kent appeared in his head, eyes warm and a smile like liquid sunshine, he was fucking gorgeous. So one night Lex figured, if Kent was going to insist on tormenting him with his ugly suits and eyes the color of spring, then Lex might at least get some use out of it. After he was done “relieving his stress” Lex felt vaguely disgusting. But not because he had just jacked-off while thinking of someone he hated, because that would have been expected and made sense and Lex was beginning to suspect that Kent enjoyed being contrary. The man had to be doing this on purpose because there was really no other reason why Lex’s personal fantasies about a full-grown man should make him feel like a pedophile.

It was at that point that Lex decided that things with Kent really couldn’t get any more annoying. Because, honestly, how could it be worse than those abominable glasses? Of course this was Kent’s cue to go and prove Lex completely wrong by breaking out The Look.

Lex had no idea where The Look came from. It had nothing in common with the look Kent normally gave him, which was something along the lines of “Luthor, you are a despicable human being and I know you’re up to something evil.” Lex was used to this look; he was comfortable with this look. So when, for no reason Lex could tell, Kent pulled out The Look, Lex was completely blindsided. It was a look that said “Lex, I’m really disappointed; I expected better from you,” and it made Lex want to do nothing so much as beg for Clark’s forgiveness. Setting aside for a moment the fact that he and Kent were apparently on first name basis in his head now, because Lex wasn’t touching _that_ one with a ten-foot pole, the whole thing still made no sense. He was Lex fucking Luthor and not even Superman, the ultimate paragon of all things good and defender of puppies and apple pie, could make him feel bad about that. So what right did Clark Kent, a report whose articles were often just this side of libel and who Lex secretly suspected of breaking into high security LexCorp facilities on more than one occasion, have to make Lex want to curl up into a little ball of shame? It was infuriating.

After the press conference where Kent had broken out The Look, Lex’s assistant, who was worth every penny of the exorbitant salary Lex paid, approached him.

“I can call The Daily Planet and ensure that Mr. Kent doesn’t cover any LexCorp related articles in the future, just say the word Mr. Luthor.”

It didn’t even take Lex a full second to decide. At a word from him he wouldn’t have to deal with the ugly clothes or the horrible posture or the god-awful flannel or any of the stupid feelings Kent stirred up. One word, and Lex would likely never have to see Kent again.

“No, that won’t be necessary.”


End file.
